


A Gift Fit for a Captain: A Fitzier Christmas Tale

by CrafterOfWords



Series: A Very Fitzier Christmas [1]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Presents, Holidays, M/M, Nervous Thoughtful James, No Smut, Pining, Take control Francis, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, repressed homosexuality, sorry about that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21894601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrafterOfWords/pseuds/CrafterOfWords
Summary: Feeling alone and discouraged after more than a year in the ice, James Fitzjames decides to find the perfect Christmas gift to entice Captain Crozier into accepting his friendship. But when the time comes to give his gift, James ultimately receives far more than he'd hoped for in return.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier & Commander James Fitzjames, Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Series: A Very Fitzier Christmas [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1578832
Comments: 18
Kudos: 75





	A Gift Fit for a Captain: A Fitzier Christmas Tale

James Fitzjames sat on his bed with his head in his hands, his fingertips massaging slow circles at his temples. He had been laboring for weeks over a gift he could give to Captain Francis Crozier for the Christmas holiday, but so far he had been unable to come up with a suitable idea. It wasn't as if he could simply take a stroll down the main line of London's merchant district, or visit a holiday market festival to browse the vast array of craftsmen's wares, to inspire himself. Now he was running out of time, with Christmas Eve in two days' time, and James had nothing to give, nor even a notion of what he _wanted_ to give. 

The two ships, HMS Terror and Erebus had been trapped in the ice for over a year, with no signs of a thaw for many months, at least, and morale was low among seamen and officers alike. Francis' melancholy had only grown darker during the bleakest months of the year, and James, for his part, felt desperately lonely. 

He thought of Francis often, with a sort of yearning which he could not put a name to. Their relationship during the first months at sea had consisted of little more than subtle antagonism and good natured rivalry for Sir John's affections and approval. Over the past several months, however, and especially in the wake of their expedition commander's untimely demise, their petty rivalry had transformed into something else, spreading like an invasive vine, its tendrils stretching and growing, choking out anything good that might have been allowed to blossom between them. 

This year, James was determined to make peace between the two of them, so he had made it his mission of late to come up with the ultimate Christmas gift for Francis - something so supremely meaningful that it would soften Francis' thorny defenses and maybe - just maybe - they could begin to build some form of friendship. 

_Friendship…_ It seemed like such a lofty goal in the face of the barren wasteland where they had been forced to make their home. Since the death of Sir John, James had felt very much alone. He cared for his men, and he felt sure that they respected him suitably, but there was none among them that he would have counted a true _friend_.

But Francis… 

When they had first set sail, James had hoped that he and Francis would become friends - partners - comrades - sailing the seas together in search of fame and glory. He'd tried to impress the other man - nearly twisted himself into a pretzel trying to make him take notice, in fact. He had recited every impressive story in his repertoire - some of them more than once - always careful to emphasize the qualities in himself that he felt Francis would be most likely to deem admirable. He spoke of his valor, his leadership, his self-sacrifice, and injury in the line of duty. But all the response he ever received from Francis was in the form of sneers and ridicule. The night that Francis interrupted him by suggesting he regale them with the tale of "Birdshit Island," James decided that he'd had enough humiliation. He'd been struck speechless by the cool contempt and downright rudeness his fellow captain displayed toward him. The stories stopped that night, but his need to gain Crozier's respect and admiration did not.

Quite the opposite was true, in fact. With every condescending remark - every reproachful glance - his resolve was strengthened, until the task of gaining Francis Crozier's respect and admiration had become his one paramount objective. Sometimes the desire for the slightest affection from Francis bordered on the intensity of feeling one might have toward a prospective lover. There were some nights when he lay in bed, unable to sleep, and wondered what Francis was doing at that moment, on his ship. Was he sleeping? Was he dreaming of Sophia Cracroft? Did he ever touch himself when he thought of her? Did he ever touch himself at all? 

Such notions never led anywhere fruitful, and inevitably ended with James chastising himself for impure thoughts. He blamed his loneliness and his wounded pride, and during daylight, he was able to control his own thoughts. It was friendship he wanted. Brotherhood that he craved. That was all, he told himself, and it was attainable. It had to be. Perhaps they truly were beyond hope of finding the Passage. More and more, James had been forced to concede that it was a possibility. But he would not - he _could not_ \- accept that they were beyond hope of finding a way to bridge the distance between them. 

So here he sat, willing himself to come up with an idea that would please his fellow captain. But _what?_ What material possession was there that Francis Crozier truly valued? He was a simple man; there was nothing of the vanity and desire for glory that James possessed. He scoured his memories of the time he'd spent on board Terror for something _\- anything -_ that would give him a clue about what the man valued. 

There were his books…safely cradled in their shelves behind glass, stacks and stacks of them. But James doubted he had any books Francis hadn't already read, and besides, which would he choose? There was, of course, his whiskey. There could be no doubt of Francis' love for his spirits. James did have one bottle of whiskey in his personal stores, and he'd briefly considered giving it to Francis. No doubt, the man would be overjoyed to receive it, but he could not quite justify the action of encouraging Crozier's gradually worsening addiction to the drink. The same applied to his cut crystal glasses. He _would not_ be an enabler. But what else was there?

Suddenly, he remembered Francis' chess set - the very one James had fiddled with on the night David Young died. James had admired it at the time; it was a beautiful piece - one of the few personal possessions Crozier had brought on board with him,of which James was aware. It was obviously of great value, both monetary and sentimental, but the last time James had visited Terror, he'd noticed that two of the chess pieces were missing - two pawns, one in black and one in white. Where they had gone was anyone's guess, though the way HMS Terror was being lifted and tipped up and out of the ice, it was a wonder that more pieces hadn't been lost. In that moment, James knew _exactly_ what he was going to do.

***

"Mister Weekes," he said, stepping into the work area of HMS Erebus' carpenter, John Weekes. He had to stoop to keep from knocking his head against some sharp implement hanging from the beams, and wondered how John Weekes managed to maneuver in here, being a taller man than he.

"Captain Fitzjames," John Weekes answered, turning to face him with a look of surprise. "Is there anything the matter, Sir?"

James thought he looked a little nervous, and he realized that he had only ever visited the carpenter's work space on one occasion in the past, where there was a leak that needed fixing beyond what the caulker was able to provide. 

"No need to worry," he answered, offering the carpenter a reassuring smile. "All is well. I only came to inquire whether you might be able to help me with a more… _personal_ matter."

John's expression turned from mild panic to one of confusion, but he nodded. "I shall do what I can, Captain. What is it that you need?"

James glanced around him at all the equipment. He was far out of his element here. "Do you have a saw or blade of some kind that can cut through sterling silver?" he asked.

John blinked, then turned, considering the question. "Aye, Sir, I dare say I do. But… what is it that you…" 

"Never mind that, Weekes," James said. He hated to be short with the man. After all, he was the one asking for help here. But it suddenly felt important to James that he keep this project a secret, though he wasn't sure why. 

Despite James's tone, Weekes took this all in stride and meandered across the room to a workbench where several small tools were hung in neat rows. He perused them carefully - almost tenderly - and finally selected a small saw with jagged teeth and a sturdy wooden handle. 

"This ought to do the trick, Sir," he said, pulling it from its hook and holding it out for James to observe. 

"Splendid. May I borrow it?" 

"Certainly, Sir," Weekes replied, still puzzled but eager to do what was necessary and helpful for his captain.

James was turning to go when he remembered something else. "Oh, one more thing," he said. "Do you have a knife that will carve ivory?"

Weekes frowned slightly, thrown off guard by this second request. "Well, ivory is a porous, soft material, Captain. Nearly any knife will do, but if it's a carving blade you're after...well… you might try this one." He held out his hand, giving James a small knife with a glistening silver blade. 

James took the knife and turned it over in the palm of his hand. It was not the knife he would have chosen on a typical occasion. It was a tiny thing, far too small to do any real damage in a fight. It had a mother of pearl handle, and a tapered blade, and it was quite sharp. He discovered this last fact accidentally, drawing a plump drop of crimson from his fingertip when he tested the blade.

"Perfect. Thank-you, Mister Weekes," he said, hiding his bleeding finger. "Oh, and I would appreciate your discretion in this matter. I shall have these tools back to you within 48 hours.

"Take your time, Captain Fitzjames," John Weekes replied, giving him a deferential nod and a tip of the hat he was not wearing.

***

Upon returning to his quarters, James sat down at the table and spread his materials out before him: the saw and the knife from Mister Weekes, a tin of black boot polish, with brush, and one place setting of his own good silverware.

At the start of their journey, each wardroom officer had brought with them a place setting for meals, including silverware bearing their family crest. James's personal flatware featured handles crafted from pure ivory and implements of the finest sterling silver. He had always been very proud of his dinnerware, and relished the chance to show off his family's good name, regardless of the fact that they were not of his own bloodline. No one knew that but him, and he was content for it to remain so. But now, with their prospects of even surviving - let alone finding the passage - fading more each day, the officers rarely gathered together for meals at all. Or if they did, there was very little conversation. Certainly, no one had taken notice of his fine ivory-handled flatware in ages. The days of feasting on cow's head with capers and Lady Jane's famous Christmas pudding were long past.

It was almost physically painful, cutting through the necks of the spoon and fork, but in the end, he managed to make a smooth edge on each cut. He tucked the spoon's bowl and fork's tines away, thinking the metal could be melted down or traded with the indigenous tribes if the need arose in the future. Then he set about carving the ivory handles using the small knife Weekes had given him. He had to admit that it glided through the ivory like a hot knife through butter, despite its less than spectacular appearance. 

When James was finished, he was left with two perfect, identical pawns. Painstakingly, he applied the black boot polish to one of the pawns, rubbing and polishing the ivory until it had absorbed the polish and gleamed a pure, even black. He sat back to admire his work and nodded with self satisfaction. They might not be a perfect match to Francis' other chess pieces, but they were very close. 

Finally, once the boot polish was dry, he carefully wrapped them in a silk handkerchief, tying the corners into a bow that looked fairly elegant, if he did say so himself!

***

On Christmas Eve, the men were in good spirits. The mess hall was filled with Christmas carols, laughter, and good cheer. Fitzjames had ordered that each man receive an extra portion of grog for the holiday, and they were feeling quite festive, indeed. It did James' heart good to see them enjoying themselves. 

Several of the men had brought him little gifts - small pouches of tobacco, hoarded pieces of chocolate... One man had even salvaged scraps of yarn and woven him a thin, and rather short scarf. Each gift was received with heartfelt gratitude and thanks, and he made a mental note to be a little easier on the men in the new year. 

Once all was in order on Erebus, James made the frigid trek across the ice to her sister ship, Terror, with his gift cradled protectively against his breast, inside his greatcoat. He was beginning to feel nervous, though he wasn't sure why, his mind fairly racing with all the possible scenarios that could play out, many of which were less than ideal. If this plan failed to get through to Francis, James would have to concede defeat. He simply didn't know what else to do.

" _I saw these and thought of you…_ " he muttered under his breath experimentally. " _Rubbish. Not a single word of that is true._ " 

" _I know you enjoy a good game of chess, and I couldn't help but notice… No, no, no…_ "

He ran through several more possible opening lines, but nothing felt right. How could he tell Francis, without looking like an absolute fool, that he so desperately wanted to be close to him? How could he express that he'd yearned for Francis' companionship and affection since the very first time they'd met? There was no way to illustrate his feelings that wouldn't sound strange, at best. Insane or pathetic at worst. 

Upon reaching Terror, he was greeted by Lt. Little, who informed him that Captain Crozier was in his quarters. Still clutching his offering beneath his coat, Fitzjames thanked the Lieutenant and descended the stairs to the lower deck, making his way to Francis' chambers. He paused outside the door, struggling to pull himself together. 

_It's only Francis,_ he thought to himself. _You've seen this man hundreds of times._ With a deep breath, he raised his fist and knocked on the door.

"Enter," he heard Francis call from within. He slid open the door and stepped inside. Francis was seated at the conference table with a glass of spirits in front of him. James couldn't tell what it was exactly, though he suspected whiskey. He'd never known Francis to drink anything else. Crozier looked as though he'd already had a drink or two: just enough to make him appear relaxed, but not fully intoxicated. When he looked up and saw James, he jumped to his feet in surprise.

"Oh! James!" he said, suddenly seeming quite sober. "I was not aware that you were coming."

"I apologize if this is an inconvenient time," James said, his heart hammering. "Perhaps I should have signaled, but… I wanted to deliver this to you personally." He unbuttoned his greatcoat and reached inside, slipping the small package from his breast pocket and extending it to Francis with a hopeful gaze.

Francis looked down at the package and then back up at James. "For me?" he said, as if he couldn't quite believe it. 

James nodded, stepping further into the room and placing the package on the table in front of where Francis had been sitting. "I hope you will like it," he said. "I made it myself." 

Francis glanced around him as if looking for something. He turned and walked to the far side of the room and busied himself with something James could not see. When he turned around again, he was holding a package, much larger than the gift James had brought, wrapped in plain brown paper. There was a smile on his lips. 

"It just so happens that I also have a gift for you, James," he said. "I had thought to come to Erebus in the morning and give it to you, but it seems you've beat me to the punch." 

James could hardly believe it. "Francis, I… I didn't expect to receive anything in return…"

Francis gave a subtle shrug and walked back to the table. "Please, sit with me, James." He gestured to the chair beside him and placed his gift in front of it. "I'm glad you're here. I was feeling a bit… Well, never mind. I'm grateful for your company, James." 

James went and sat beside Francis, not quite able to believe how smoothly this encounter was going. He sank into the chair and eyed the gift before him, his mind racing as he tried to work out what could be inside it. He turned his gaze back to Francis and his heart fluttered when their eyes met. He needed to get a handle on himself - on...whatever this feeling was that threatened to swallow him whole. He held Francis' gaze for a long moment, staring deep into those pale, melancholy eyes, the color of blue topaz. Francis returned his gaze without blinking, making James' heart beat all the faster. He cleared his throat and shifted slightly in his chair, glancing down at the gift he had brought. 

"Go on, then. You open yours first, Francis," he said.

Francis looked down at the gift with an expression that James couldn't quite read. He almost seemed nervous about finding out what might lie nestled inside this handkerchief, and for the first time, James wondered whether Francis could possibly be feeling the same anxiety that he was feeling. Surely not. And yet…

Francis cast a nervous glance over to James and then set about gingerly tugging at the bow until it unfurled gracefully in a puddle of silk around the two chess pawns. Francis stared at them without speaking, without blinking, without doing anything. He simply stared at them until James was certain that he had made a horrible, horrible mistake. He couldn't imagine how a pair of chess pawns could offend a man, but in that moment, he was certain that he'd achieved it.

"I'm sorry if you don't like them, Francis. I wanted to do more, but… well, it isn't as though we can make a quick jaunt into town for some shopping, and...well, I noticed that your chess board was missing a pair of pawns when last I was here, so I thought…" 

James' stammering was cut short when Francis lifted his head and turned to face him. To his absolute astonishment, there were tears glistening in the Irishman's eyes, casting them in an even more vibrant shade of blue in contrast to his reddening sclerae. He blinked, and his copper lashes sent tears running down his cheeks, though he was quick to brush them away with a swipe of his hands. 

"Where did you get these, James?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

"I...made them," James said. Oh, God, did Francis think he'd stolen them? But Francis was shaking his head.

"So you've said, but where did you get the ivory to carve them?" he asked.

"Oh, that…" James frowned. He hadn't planned on telling Francis where the ivory had come from, for fear that such a gesture might be taken as too bold. It was meant to be a secret only he knew, but he couldn't seem to deny Francis an answer. "I used the handles of my family's silverware." 

Francis nodded somberly. "They're beautiful, James," he said, his voice soft. "Truly remarkable."

James still felt confused - off balance. The tone of Francis' voice stood in contradiction to the words he spoke, and he couldn't make sense of it. "As I said, I noticed you were missing a pair of pawns from your set, so I thought you might appreciate a replacement. I apologize if I've overstepped," he said.

Francis' expression shifted, his head tilting slightly. "You haven't overstepped, James. Not at all."

"But I've upset you, clearly," James argued. 

Francis did not answer, but nodded toward the gift in front of James. "Please, open your gift now. I think, once you do, you will understand my mood."

James swallowed and nodded, pulling the gift toward him and tugging at the bit of twine that held it closed. When the wrapping fell away, the first thing James saw was a wooden crate with the words "Goldner's Patent Canned Goods" stamped on the side. He cast a questioning glance at Francis, who nodded for him to proceed, so James began to brush aside the wood shavings to reveal the treasure within. When he finally realized what he was looking at, it took James' breath away. He looked to Francis, his mouth open and eyes wide with confusion, then back down at what lay before him. Within the wooden crate, nestled among wood chip padding lay Francis' chess board, along with a handkerchief, tied into a pouch, which he presumed held the pieces.

James had never felt so unworthy of a gift in his life. "I cannot accept this, Francis," he said. "The monetary value alone makes it a gift far too extravagant for-- 

"James…" Francis said, interrupting him. "It is true that this chess set is quite possibly my most valuable possession. Certainly the most valuable on this ship."

James began to speak but Francis held up a hand and said, "That is why I wanted you to have it. Besides, as you have apparently noticed, it lacks two pawns." He broke into a soft smile that made James' heart clench in his chest, and he felt his throat constrict as tears prickled at the corners of his own eyes. He licked his lips, trying to think of the words he could say, or the questions he could ask. "But… why?"

Francis reached across the space between them and rested a hand on James' arm. His voice was soft and low, and full of emotion when he spoke. "Long have I yearned for your friendship, James," he said, blinking. "I know that I can be a right peevish bastard, but surely you must know how much I have always admired you."

James blinked. No, he most certainly had been aware of no such thing. "I always believed that you loathed me, Francis," he said, feeling completely out of his depth. "Always, you sought to humiliate me - to undermine whatever respect I may have garnered from the men."

"No, James," Francis said with a shake of his head. His hand still rested on James' sleeve. "If I have been antagonistic, it was because of my envy. Never of hatred."

James shook his head, confused. "Francis, I don't understand. What do I have that would cause you envy?"

"How can you ask that, James?" Francis said, his brow furrowed. "You have been freely given everything that I have had to fight for, tooth and nail, my entire life. And, perhaps…" He paused, his eyes rolling to the side as if searching for the words just beyond his field of vision. "Perhaps I felt a need to push you away because I feared the sting of your rejection. You can be a bit intimidating, James."

James was speechless. It had never even crossed his mind that Francis had been jealous of him, let alone intimidated by him. Perhaps, in vying for Sir John's attention, but certainly not beyond that. And yet, in this moment, he could not deny the earnestness behind Francis' eyes. Was it possible that he had misunderstood his fellow commander, all this time?

"I have long wished to forge a friendship with you, Francis," he confessed, glancing down at the hand on his arm. He wanted to touch it - to cover it with his own hand, as he felt the warmth of Francis' body heat through the layers of his sleeves. But he felt frozen in place, shocked by the sudden dawning knowledge that Francis had been feeling the same as he, though in exactly what sense, he couldn't be sure. He licked his dry lips and cleared his throat.

"I fear you've left me speechless, Francis," he said. Francis regarded him expectantly - hopefully, as if waiting for affirmation, and James was overwhelmed by the realization Francis actually cared what he thought. 

"I shall cherish this… with all my heart," he said. "Truly, Francis, it is a beautiful sentiment, pure and true. I am deeply honored." In that moment, James was unsure whether he was referring to the gift or the warmth that radiated from Francis' hand onto his arm. 

Francis seemed to relax at his words, but he'd apparently noticed James glancing at his hand, and began to withdraw, lifting it from James' arm. In a flash, James reached over and covered the hand with his own, effectively holding him in place.

Francis' eyes widened, but his muscles relaxed, and he did not make further attempts to pull away from James' grasp. They were close now. So close… Close enough for James to see every fleck in Francis' crystal blue eyes. He could smell the faint scent of whiskey on his breath, mixed with some masculine, musky scent all Francis' own. James had caught only brief whiffs of it in the past, but now it hung between them, flooding his senses and wakening some heretofore dormant hunder deep inside him. James had the overwhelming urge to bridge the distance between them and kiss Francis hard on the mouth. 

_No_ , he thought. He was being ridiculous. To do such a thing would be unpardonable. Francis could have him lashed, or worse. He needed to come to his senses. He was letting his imagination run away with him. Surely, Francis had only ever desired comradery between them. Friendship, yes. But nothing more. Surely, he was simply allowing his imagination to run away with him. And yet… 

The air around them seemed to crackle with an invisible electric current. Francis was staring steadily back into James' eyes. Was he leaning in? Or was James only imagining that he was inching closer? He licked his lips, his eyes darting down to Francis' mouth and then back to his pale blue eyes. In that moment, he thought he would gladly lay down his life if he could only spend one moment with his lips pressed against Francis', but he could not allow himself to--

The thought was cut short in a flash of heat and a jolt of adrenaline as Francis lunged forward, his grip on James' arm tightening as Francis pressed his lips to his own. His body went rigid, and then slack as he reached out with his free hand, gripping Francis' lapel and pulling him closer. He let out a soft whine against Francis' lips as he surrendered to the moment, allowing himself to be lifted and carried by it.

The kiss lasted several moments, and James wanted very much to make it last even longer. His body felt hot and uncomfortably confined within his uniform. He had never before allowed his imagination to wander into the territory of what Francis Crozier's body might look like beneath his layers of clothing, but it did so now. In fact, he very much wanted to peel back every layer of this man until he was laid bare beneath James' heated gaze. Oh, what he could do to this man, if given the opportunity…

James forced his heart to slow and his mind to calm itself as their lips parted tentatively. They remained close, their foreheads touching, breath heavy, mingling together, warm and damp in the air between them. 

"I'm sorry, James… I… don't know what came over me," Francis said. His voice was gravelly and the desire held within it sent a shot of arousal through James' system.

"Don't you dare apologize," he said, one hand meandering to Francis' cheek, cradling it gently while the pad of his thumb traced the line of Francis' mouth. "If we are to meet our end out here in this God forsaken ice, then I would meet my end by your side." 

Francis smiled. "And I, by yours," he said softly. "But James, I fear I've crossed a line…"

"No," James said, his fingers still clinging to the other captain's lapel. "You have crossed no line that I would not have gladly hurled myself over time and time again, had I the faintest inkling that you would have been willing to catch me on the other side."

Francis let out a soft moan. He tipped his head up and caught James' lower lip between his teeth, tugging gently before letting the flesh slip from his grasp, only to capture his lips in another kiss. "You should have told me, James," he breathed between kisses. "You should have let me know…"

James felt desire wash over his entire body. The feeling of Francis tugging at his lip made him want to rip the man's uniform off that very moment, but he remained in control of himself. Mostly. His breath was heavy, lips parted in a gentle pant. "Would that I had," he breathed. He felt like his body was on fire, and he wanted nothing more than to pull Francis into his lap and grind against him, but he somehow managed to restrain himself.

"I should return to Erebus," he breathed. 

"Fuck Erebus," Francis replied. "And fuck Terror. Fuck it all, James, I would have you in my bed this night."

James kissed him again, whining into his mouth as his lips parted, tasting him, savoring him. One hand lifted to slip his fingers into Francis' silky hair as his other hand snaked around him. 

"If only I could…" James said. "There is nothing I desire more. But... I cannot."

Francis let out a growl of frustration and James knew exactly how he felt. Still… he had responsibilities to attend to on Erebus, and his absence would be noted by the men. "I'm sorry, Francis," he murmured against his lips. "But it's only for tonight."

It was the hardest thing he'd ever done, but somehow James managed to disentangle himself from Francis' grasp. They were both breathless and flushed, and James could feel his arousal straining against his trousers. He could not remember ever wanting anything so much in his entire life. His hands were on Francis' shoulders, holding him back, but also not allowing him to escape. 

"Very well, James," Francis said, voice still hoarse with desire, but attempting to at least put up an appearance of formality. "Tomorrow is Christmas Day, and I would be honored if you would join me for Christmas dinner." 

"Of course," James said, grinning. "Shall I invite the officers?"

Francis gave him a withering look and shook his head. "Not upon your life, James," he said, his lips turning up in a wry grin even as his brow remained stern. "I think, James, that you and I have a great many things to discuss _in private_. Don't you?"

"I do, indeed," James said, a matching grin tugging at his lips. "And perhaps, if our negotiations run smoothly, we could begin to enact our plans."

"I believe that is an excellent notion, Captain Fitzjames," Francis said. He pulled back from James' grasp and straightened his uniform. 

James smoothed his own hair back into place as he made an attempt to regain his composure. He needed to get out of there quickly before he lost his resolve and tumbled into bed with Francis right here and now. There was too much at stake to allow himself this indiscretion tonight. Tomorrow, he could make allowances. Tomorrow… 

He stood from his chair, tugging at the hem of his jacket to cover the evidence of his desire, though he guessed that Francis was suffering the same affliction at that moment. He replaced the chess board in its crate, making sure that it was carefully nestled into the wood shavings to protect it from damage. He still couldn't believe that Francis had given it to him. Nothing of this night felt real.

Once he'd collected his possessions, James walked to the cabin door with Francis behind him. He turned around and said, "Thank you, Francis," reaching out to take his hand and lifting it to his lips. His skin was rough and dry, but he relished the roughness against his lips as he kissed Francis' knuckles. "Merry Christmas." 

Francis answered by leaning forward and tugging James into one last kiss, deep and sweet, and laden with the promise of things to come. His hands balled into a fist in james' neatly coiffed hair and his tongue dipped into James' mouth, teasing. Inviting. 

"Merry Christmas, James," he whispered against James' mouth. "Until tomorrow."

The whole way back to Erebus, James was unable to wipe the grin from his face. His body still thrummed with frenetic energy as he remembered the way it had felt to have Francis' body pressed against his. He was grateful for the heavy layers he wore to cover his treacherous erection, which refused to settle itself until he was halfway back to Erebus. 

Once within the privacy of his own chambers, James lifted the chess board from its wooden cocoon and placed it on the table by his bed. In the morning, he would decide where it should make its permanent abode, and set up all the pieces, except for the two he'd left with Francis, of course. Those pieces, he hoped, Francis would bring with him whenever he visited Erebus in the future, so that they could play together.

As he dressed for bed, James realized that where there had been nothing but emptiness and despair a few days ago, he now felt warmth and hope. He lay in bed that night, his heart still racing with excitement and anticipation, the kerchief pressed to his cheek. It smelled faintly of Terror's wardroom, of mahogany and whiskey and leather. It smelled of _Francis_. Tomorrow, he would be sure that affairs were settled on Erebus before making the trip to Terror. Tomorrow, he would find out what Francis Crozier looked like beneath his many layers. Tomorrow, he would be reminded of what it felt like to open himself up to another human being - to love and be loved - to revel in the touch of another. Tomorrow… 

James Fitzjames could barely wait until tomorrow. That night, as he drifted off to sleep, with the aurora borealis dancing in the sky and the northern constellations shining down on them, for the first time in as long as he could remember, James Fitzjames did not feel alone. It would truly be a very merry Christmas.


End file.
